Wishing You Felicity
by jenesaispasichweissnicht
Summary: Felicity's relationship with Simon told in short 200 to 800 word moments in Fee's pov. This is my first fanfic, so please r&r.
1. Chapter 1

**This is just a SimonFelicity moment that I wrote during Econ and kind of liked. I always thought those two had... a past. This is the first thing I have posted so please read and review. It's short; it won't take very long at all. ;) **

"Miss Worthington." Simon takes my elbow, a gesture so formal that I laugh. He laughs too, and wraps my arm around his waist instead.

"What brings you here, Mr. Middleton?" I ask, as he puts his arm around me too.

"Felicity," he breathes, and suddenly I'm crushed against him and his lips are by my ear. "I've asked Gemma to marry me," he says.

I pull away, but his hands are still on my waist, holding me so tightly I can feel his fingers through my corset. "She won't marry you," I say carelessly, and I kiss his mouth. He responds eagerly; he always does. He tastes like peppermints and liquor, somehow both safe and dangerous. When his hand weaves through my hair, I stop him, ducking from his grasp and crossing to the other side of the room.

"Of course she'll marry me," he says, a little breathless. "Gemma Doyle loves me."

I only laugh and twist my hair up onto the top of my head with one hand. Then, I let it fall in golden waves. Simon stares at me, his mouth slightly open. "I wish you both... felicity," I say finally. "Good-day to you, Mr. Middleton."


	2. Chapter 2

**Felicity reflects on Simon (and shows her vulnerable side???). This is kind of OOC, and it contradicts the previous chapter. Oh well. **

Simon knows everything about me, about my family. He knows about my father, and he knows about my mother, and he knows about every bad thing I have ever done. Everyone gossips about us; I can feel it. But only he knows. I do not look at Simon anymore.

Gemma talks of him sometimes. I do not think she loves him, and I do not think that he loves her. He will flirt with her, court her, maybe even marry her. He knows that there's something unusual about Gemma, but he doesn't know what. He doesn't really know her, and he does not love her. He knows me, he knows everything about me. But he does not love me either.

I did love him back then, in that time of whispered secrets and secret kisses, and all those games we played. I can remember him in my bedroom at two in the morning. I can still see his face in the mirror above my vanity, a flash of unruly blond hair. Simon made me feel dangerous, but safe. I've learned that security is always a lie.

I wonder now if anything he said to me was true. Or if all those "Miss Worthington's" and softer "Felicity's" were just another game to him. I can play those games; I have played those games. But it all felt different when I was with Simon. I guess I can't trust my feelings.

I can't trust my father or mother or even my best friend. Pippa, beautiful Pippa with her violet eyes, the first person who ever loved me back. She deserted me. She died. It was all Gemma's fault.

I hate Gemma. I hate her, and I want to be her. I want to be pursued by Simon, and I want to kiss him again, and I want to forget. I want to have that power she has, that magic. Nothing bad can happen to Gemma. She is special. I am nothing.

Simon knows that I am nothing. He will never look at me again. I will not look at him either. I may have loved him back then, but he knows everything about me.

**Please R&R. I don't really like this... concrit is appreciated, even if this is really short.**


	3. Chapter 3

**This is sort of similar to the first one. I want to have them meet in public next. Then maybe something from Simon's pov. And eventually a happy ending. Maybe. **

"I'm not afraid of you, Felicity," says Simon. He takes a swig from the bottle and winces as he swallows. "This is empty," he grumbles, tossing it aside. When it hits the floor, it shatters into a million tiny glass fragments for some maid to clean up later.

I lower my eyelids. "You should be."

"What?" The alcohol has made him forgetful. He sits up from where he's sprawled on the bed to look at me, his blond hair tousled.

"You should be afraid of me," I repeat. I grab his shoulders and push him back down, then roll over so I'm lying next to him. "If you were smart, Simon Middleton, you would be very afraid of me."

He's laughing. He turns his head to look at me so our faces are inches apart. I smile. "Felicity," he moans. I let him kiss me then because I want him to. Kissing Simon is like being home. Our mouths know each other. The kiss is slow, lazy even, but charged with something I cannot name. And in this moment, I think I could stay with Simon forever.

Then, he's on top of me, and his mouth is on my neck, and I'm falling. His body molds into mine, and I'm still kissing him back, and he's fumbling with buttons, and I just keep falling.

Then, he stops.

He rolls off of me, and we're side by side, just staring at the ceiling. The only sound is our breathing, perfectly in sync.

"Dammit, Fee!" he cries finally.

I'm silent. Our hands find each other, and our fingers intertwine. It seems like enough, for now.

"Felicity," he murmurs to the ceiling.

"Shhh."

"God, Fee! I'm engaged to your best friend! We can't..."

I cut him off. "We shouldn't, but we can."

"I love Gemma," he says stubbornly. "My parents love her, and I love her, and she loves me, and we're going to be married."

"But will you be happy?" I ask. I pull my hand from his grasp, and kiss his mouth lightly. "My room next week?"

"Hey Fee," he says, as I pull on my shoes. "I'm afraid of you."

**Please review. Please. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**I forgot to write a disclaimer in the first chapter, so here it is: I am not Libba Bray. I'm just not.**

**Anyway, I was writing the chapter after this one in econ, and I started to feel really bad for Gemma. I mean, I knew she had Kartik, but Felicity didn't, and it made me kind of hate Fee. So I wrote this little filler chapter so Fee _knows_ that Gemma doesn't love Simon. Yeah. Enjoy. The next chapter should be up really soon. :) **

"I can't marry Simon," Gemma confides to Ann and I. She passes the bottle to Ann, who leans forward to take it, then slumps back against the cave wall.

"Why not?" I ask, not caring that I sound too interested.

"I love someone else," she proclaims, seizing the bottle back from Ann and swallowing the last of the whiskey in one gulp.

Ann sits up straight. "Who?"

Gemma just smiles, twirling a loose lock of hair around one finger.

"Yes, who?" I ask impatiently. "Do tell us, my dear."

"I shouldn't tell you," she says, sing-song. "It's dreadfully improper." Ann giggles, then hiccups. I blow lightly on the candle flame and watch it dance, feigning disinterest now. Even if Gemma does love some gypsy, she will not leave Simon for him.

"Oh, do tell us!" exclaims Ann.

"Kartik," Gemma breathes. "Brother of Amar, former initiate of the Rakshana." She laughs a humorless laugh. "He's Indian."

"The man you kissed?" I wonder. "That night in the gypsy camp."

She nods. "Kartik." Her voice seems to caress his name, and I am reminded forcefully of Simon saying, "Fee."

"Brother of who? Former what?" Ann is asking, but I am not interested in details. If anything, this confession has made Simon and Gemma's impending marriage more real to me. Gemma cannot marry an Indian. I know this, and she knows it too.

"I must break it off with Simon," Gemma is saying now. "Grandmother will be horribly disappointed, and Father and Tom. But I just cannot marry him! I cannot!"

"You must," I say, and my heart splits in two.

"Tom," sighs Ann. "Why doesn't Tom love me?"

We ignore her. Gemma says, "No, I love Kartik. We will run away to India. I love him, Felicity. I cannot marry Simon. I cannot!"

"You've had too much whiskey," I tell her.

"So have I," says Ann.

**Reviews make me giddy! Review. Sil vous plait. ;) **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hmmm, I'm not sure about the ending of this... It's a completely different scene from what I meant to put here. I screwed up the time-line when I put them at school in the last chapter. Oh well. I like this one better anyway. I'll stop rambling and let you read it.**

"Not tonight," Gemma mutters, staring at her potatoes with unnecessary concentration.

"Please," begs Ann. "We haven't been to the realms in ages!" Her own plate is already empty; she looks faintly ill.

"Ann, darling," I say, taking a tiny bite of lamb. "Ann, darling, we shall have our own adventure tonight. We don't need Miss Doyle to have fun." I smile at her.

"Thank you, Fee."

"You can even wear my blue velvet cloak. We'll get our fortunes told again, by that old gypsy woman. Mother Elena."

Ann smiles and stares hopefully at my pudding.

"Miss Doyle!" I turn around in my chair and see Brigid, standing just behind me. I wonder that I did not hear her approach. "Miss Doyle," she says again. "You have a visitor, a Mr. Middleton."

Gemma drops her fork. "Simon." A faint crease appears between her eyebrows. Her legs tremble as she stands, and her eyes are on Ann and I, as if daring us to remember last night's confession. "Thank you, Brigid," she murmurs.

I watch her follow Brigid from the dining hall, and so does every other girl in the room. Tiny Minnie Hathaway whispers audibly to her neighbor, "Mr. Middleton is a very handsome gentleman," and all the first formers giggle. I take a rather violent bite of lamb.

Gemma doesn't reappear during free time. Ann reads one of her ridiculous novels, and Elizabeth and Cecily whisper boringly about Cecily's boring beau, Frederick Thomas. I stab myself repeatedly with my needlework needle and miss Pippa.

When Gemma finally comes back, it's only minutes before bedtime. Her face is a cool, composed mask. She sits in the chair across from mine, and stares at her hands. She's wearing a ring on her left hand, an opal encased in shiny gold. I don't have to ask to know it's an engagement ring from Simon. When we are dismissed to our rooms, Gemma walks between Ann and I silently. I wonder what she'll tell Ann after their door is closed.

The room I used to share with Pippa is just mine now. It's twice as big as Gemma and Ann's with a view of the forest from one window and a view of the lake from the other. The rug is thick and the mattress on my bed is soft. The draperies are deep blue silk.

By the time I close my door behind me, the tears are flowing down my face. Tears about my pricked fingers and tears about Pippa and tears about Simon. I don't bother to light a candle. I fling myself onto the bed, fully clothed.

"Miss Worthington?" The voice comes from the shadowy corner by the door.

I hardly suppress a scream. A tall figure emerges from the shadows and moves toward me. I know that shape.

"Fee," Simon whispers. He sits on the edge of my bed.

"Simon," I breathe, relieved. I sit up and hastily wipe my eyes. He moves closer to me and kisses me on the mouth, a long, slow kiss. I'm still crying, and his hands are on my face.

He pulls away first, still holding my face in his hands. I want to keep kissing him. I want to forget everything but the intoxicating taste of him. I need more. I trace his lower lip with one finger, and he sighs. "You're crying," he says softly.

"Of course I'm crying," I tell him, and suddenly I'm sobbing. My whole body heaves, and I pull myself from his grip. "Go away, Simon."

"Fee." He tries to put his arms around me, but I push him away.

"Please leave."

"I won't!"

"If you don't, I shall scream, and you will be found," I say.

He knows the truth in this; he touches my hair wordlessly and is gone.

**Um, review. Please. If you hate it, tell me, but be nice about it. I didn't mean to make them fight in this chapter, it just sort of happened. Oh well. I'm really tired. I'm going to stop typing now. Really. Bye.**


	6. Chapter 6

**This is the product of another boring econ class. It happens right after the previous chapter. Somehow, this has become a story instead of just random moments... Whatever, just read it. :) **

I'm running, running as fast as I can, but my voluminous skirts wrap around my ankles, tripping me. I can't move. She's in front of me, just walking, her red hair flowing behind her in perfect waves. Gemma.

Then, I'm in Simon's arms and he's kissing me urgently. I'm pinned beneath him, stuck. I search for Gemma even as he tries to unbutton my dress. I can't catch up with her. He's on top of me, and she's in front of me, and I can't move.

_Knock knock_.

She turns a corner, and suddenly Simon's gone, and I'm lying alone in the middle of so much nothingness.

_Knock knock knock._

"Felicity?"

My eyes fly open. I'm lying alone on the top of the bedclothes, still wearing my Spence uniform. Ann's standing timidly in the doorway, the moonlight from my window shining on her face. She's almost beautiful. Her eyes are wide, and she looks nervous. She's holding an unlit lantern in her left hand.

"Felicity?" she whispers again.

"Shh, Ann, close the door," I murmur. I hear the door close softly and sit up in bed. While she stands watching, I release my pale hair from its bun, combing it with my fingers until it lies perfectly straight on my back. "To the gypsies, then?" I ask.

ooooooooooooooo

By the time we reach the forest, Ann is shivering in my blue cloak. "Let's go back," she says, looking wistfully over her shoulder at the school. The gargoyles staring back at us from the roof aren't half as threatening as the trees tonight.

"Don't be ridiculous," I say, taking the lantern from her. "I want to get my fortune told." She's still wavering. I step under the canopy of the first trees and begin walking quickly, listening for her bumbling footsteps behind me. I hold the lantern in front of me as I walk, illuminating my way and leaving Ann in the dark.

"Felicity! Wait!" Then, I hear her running, twigs are cracking, and she's panting hard. "Felicity...wait...wait for me..."

I stop, but only because I've reached the outskirts of the gypsy camp. Ann finally catches up; she grabs my arm and hangs on, still panting. I shush her and peer through the trees into the clearing. The gypsy men are gathered around a fire that turns their faces red, menacing. I don't remember which tent is Mother Elena's. Ann is whimpering behind me, her hands still on my arm; for a moment, I consider turning back like I know she wants to. Then, I think of Simon. His face is in my mind, grinning cockily, one eyebrow raised.

I step into the clearing.

The man who sees me first cheers. The rest laugh raucously and call out obscenities. A lone figure steps from the circle, and I know him. "She is mine," says Ithal.

**What will happen next??? Even I don't know yet. Review, sil vous plait. J'aime les reviewers. Merci to everyone who has reviewed! Oh, oui, my French is soooo good. hehe. ;) **


	7. Chapter 7

**I wanted to post this because I stopped really abruptly yesterday. So, here's what happens next. Yeah.**

... "She is mine," says Ithal.

I hear myself reply, "Yes, I am." So much like Gemma on that night so long ago, I walk to him in a daze. My mouth finds his for an instant, only an instant, but it is enough. The other men turn back to the fire, bored with me now.

Ithal is grinning at me, his arm snaked around my waist. "I know you come back," he says happily. "I wait a long time, but I know you come back."

I don't tell him that I came for Mother Elena. He is a much better distraction anyway. He looks handsome and dangerous in the firelight, his eyes flashing black as the night. I toy absently with his hair, so thick and dark – the opposite of Simon's – as he speaks low in my ear words I do not know. Romanian. In this other language, his voice is deep, eloquent, perfect.

Then, he's leading me to his tent like I was here yesterday, as though I have not ignored him for a year. I see movement in the trees; Ann is watching me. I find that I don't care; she wouldn't dare tell on me, and she can surely find her own way back to the school. Or her own gypsy man.

"Felicity." My name sounds foreign on his tongue, but his hand is familiar in mine. When we reach his tent, he lifts me off my feet, cradles me in his arms like a babe. He has to crouch down to get through the entrance. Inside, it's even darker than the night. He lies me on his blanket. I can feel every flaw in the uneven ground below me.

It's too dark to see, and he finds me with his hands, tracing my nose, lips, neck with his fingers. I can feel him arched above me, and I reach up, tangle my fingers in his curls, pull his face down to mine. Then, we're kissing, and he lowers himself onto me, gently. His weight is keeping me grounded, and making me forget. He kisses my neck, and his fingers find the buttons on my gown. He has nimbler fingers than Simon; the buttons are undone in mere moments. Somehow, his shirt has gone; I don't remember removing it. I don't remember why I'm here.

"Ithal." My voice is a croak. "Ithal, I have to go back to the school."

He rolls off of me, lies panting on the ground. "You will be back?"

"I don't know," I say, and it's true. I don't know anymore.

**Hope you liked it... the end isn't my favorite thing ever. Please review and tell me what you think. It will make me very happy... and if I'm happy, you'll be happy too. Maybe. **


	8. Chapter 8

For some reason, it won't let me bold this; every time I try to save it bold, it just goes back to plain text. I'm sorry. I'm not sure where I'm going with this story anymore. I was FeeSimon all the way, but then I started reading A Great and Terrible Beauty again, and I feel really sorry for Ithal. He's so cute! And it would be sort of funny to have Simon end up alone while Gemma went off with Kartik and Fee went off with Ithal. I'm still leaning towards FeeSimon of course, but maybe maybe maybe. Je ne sais pas. Ich weiss nicht. What do you think?

My Dearest Fee,  
When I say I don't love you, I lie. You must know that I do. I have loved you since we were children. You have bewitched me, Felicity. Everyday, I wish it was you I was promised to. I wish it was you that I promised to spend forever with. It sounds stupid and sentimental, but it's true. I love you, my darling Fee. You are so beautiful. You are so --

Dear Felicity,  
I don't love Miss Doyle. I can't. It's you I love, Felicity. It's always been you. I will do whatever I must to break off our engagement. It will be a scandal, I know. But I will do whatever I have to. If you will still have me, Fee --

Dear Fee,  
Do you remember when we were children, and we stole that liquor from the kitchens? You wouldn't drink it Fee; do you remember? You were so innocent and beautiful and perfect, even then. You make me better, Fee. I can't live without you. I can't be with --

Dear Felicity,  
I love you. I'm sorry that I've hurt you. Once you forgive me, I will never hurt you again. I can't bear seeing you cry, Fee. Especially when it's my own doing, and I can't make it better. Tell me what I must do. Make me do anything. I'm your servant forever. I'm yours. I don't know --

Simon Middleton banged his fist into the writing desk. "Dammit, Fee," he muttered to the empty room. He crumpled his last attempt in one fist, and tossed it into the fire across the room. He'd always been good at sports: cricket, tennis, that sort of thing. If only he was as good at writing letters. He stared at the blank paper in front of him, pen in the corner of his mouth. He would allow himself one more try, and then he'd give it up, give her up. He wouldn't think of her again. His pen touched the paper, and his eyes felt...sort of wet.

Dear Miss Worthington,  
I am sorry. For everything. We need to talk.  
Yours,  
Simon Middleton

Review, and I will love you forever. Only not in a creepy way. lol.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry that it's been twelve years since i have written... i always meant to finish this story but i got distracted... or something... this is lovesick Fee... i dunno if it's characteristic at all (and i hope the french is right). please review... it will give me the will to actually finish this (now totally irrelevant) story... **

I didn't expect the letter to be from him. I've been forgetting him lately. I'd nearly reconciled myself to his and Gemma's marriage until this came. Fifteen words in his hand and my resolve is gone completely. I wonder what this says about me.

He wants to talk to me. How ridiculous is that? Talk! Simon Middleton and I do not talk! Boys like Gemma's idiot brother talk. Simon Middleton does not talk. We can't even have a short conversation without arguing. And we can't argue without kissing each other.

And what's he sorry for anyway? Simon is never sorry. Simon doesn't know how to be sorry. I'm fairly certain of this. And if he feels the need to apologize, shouldn't it be to Gemma? She's the one he's engaged to. He doesn't owe me anything.

I've read the letter so many times. I've had it memorized since the third reading, but my eyes still long to caress his sweeping calligraphy, so much nicer than mine. I always linger over the word "yours" as if that formality meant something more. I know I'm going crazy as I unfold it yet again, this time in the middle of French class, hiding it inside my reader. "Dear Miss Worthington," I murmur to myself.

Gemma and Ann both glance at me, looking curious. Ann's forehead is wrinkled unattractively. I haven't told them of the letter, for obvious reasons. Gemma still has that ring on her finger, and though she tries to hide it in the folds of her skirt, it's always the first thing I see when I look at her. I haven't read any more of the letter allowed, but somehow Mademoiselle LeFarge appears above me without warning.

"C'est une lettre intéressante, Mademoiselle Worthington?"

"Non, Mademoiselle," I lie quickly, and shove the letter into another page of my book. LeFarge is kind enough not to press me further, but I am not expecting the same courtesy from my friends. Both of them keep sneaking glances at me; Gemma's are significantly more surreptitious than Ann's. I only hope that I will have the time to make up a new, fake letter before they have a chance to question me about it.

I don't chance a look at Simon's letter for the rest of the class; for now, I must be content to recite it in my head: "Dear Miss Worthington, I am sorry. For everything. We need to talk. Yours, Simon Middleton." I can almost hear his voice.

**Reviewez, s'il vous plait! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Felicity managed to write a decoy letter... she and Ann discuss it... and she composes a response for Simon... I hope it doesn't suck completely... please tell me if it does! Thanks for reading!**

"Will you see Mr. Harris over the holidays, Fee?" Ann asks me from her perch on Pippa's old bed. She's wearing one of my new elbow length gloves and looks almost ludicrously happy.

"I believe he's gone back to America," I say, feigning sadness. I allow my curtain of blond hair to fall in front of my face, but I still see her face fall slightly.

"At least you shall still be able to correspond through letters," she says. She takes a worn, folded piece of paper from my bedside table. It's a fake love letter from a fake man written in the hand of a bribed first former, but Ann looks at it like it's absolute treasure. "It's so terribly romantic!" she gushes as she unfolds it for yet another reading.

I'm glad the curtain of my hair is still covering my face, and Ann doesn't see my lips twitch. I do not trust myself to continue on the subject of Mr. Harris without giving myself away. What started as a simple decoy for Simon's letter has turned into one of Ann's favorite subjects. I thought sending the wonderful Mr. Harris "back to America" would stop Ann's fancies, but so far my plan has been remarkably unsuccessful. The distance has only made our supposed love more like one of her silly novels.

"Oh Fee, do you think he will send for you?" she wonders, clutching the letter to her heart. "I do think he will. He must." I busy myself with removing a spot from my nightgown, and she says in a rather dejected way, "Mustn't he?"

"I do not know, Ann," I answer. I yawn hugely. "I'm rather tired, darling." She remains sitting on Pippa's bed, oblivious as usual to my subtle hint. I give her a pointed look, but she's too engrossed in reading the letter again to notice. Finally, I say, as sweetly as I can manage, "Goodnight, Ann."

"Oh!" She is startled, but she recovers quickly enough. "Goodnight, Felicity." Ann clumsily moves herself from Pippa's bed, dropping the letter back on the table with one last yearning look. "I do wonder why he hasn't yet responded to your response," she murmurs, but she notices my eyes on her this time and makes a quick but not quite graceful exit.

The moment she is gone I take Simon's letter from under my pillow and rush to my dressing table to write the letter I have been composing in my head.

Dear Mr. Middleton, I plan on attending the Hathaway's ball over Christmas. I shall talk with you there, if you still desire it. Sincerely, Felicity Worthington

Frowning, I rewrite the letter, this time without the second sentence. Simon Middleton can take what he will from the first alone. Satisfied, I put his letter and both of mine under my pillow. In two days time, I will travel home to London.

**I will finish this story! I will! (especially if you review ;)**


	11. Chapter 11

**The Christmas Holidays... Gemma and Felicity are shopping... I don't know how they get to go around London unchaperoned, but they just do... okay? okay... now read! yay!**

"Not tonight," Gemma mutters, her eyes fixed on the green silk she's wearing to the Hathaway's masquerade next week.

"We haven't been in forever!" I hiss back, pretending to check the price on a garish pink taffeta I'd never wear. "Miss Bradshaw is leaving us soon for those awful cousins. Poor darling Ann! She'll never have any fun again!"

"Maybe tomorrow," Gemma sighs, still not looking at me. "I just, I want to wait until we're back at Spence again. I don't want to ruin -"

We see him at the same time: Simon. She stops mid-sentence. I freeze for a second, then drift casually behind her to examine a pair of elbow-length gloves of delicate white lace.

"Ah, the lovely Miss Doyle!" exclaims Simon cheerily as he walks through the door of the shop. He bows over her hand and kisses it. Gemma's cheeks turn a faint shade of pink that clash spectacularly with her red hair. As he looks up from her hand, our eyes meet. He opens his mouth in surprise and then closes it, silently.

I step around the rack, still staring straight into his very blue eyes. "Good afternoon, Mr. Middleton," I say carefully. "Miss Doyle and I are picking up our dresses for the Hathaway's masquerade next week." I sound too polite to my own ears.

"Miss Worthington," he nods. He looks faintly ill.

I raise my eyebrows at him over Gemma's head. He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them, he's looking at Gemma. I move the stand next to her, but Simon is still determinedly not looking at me. "Miss Doyle," he says. "When are you returning to school?"

"January," she says, smiling. Her voice turns hard as she says, "And then, the wedding in June."

"Ah, yes, that happy day," says Simon, almost as though he'd completely forgotten.

"The happiest," I agree. Gemma looks at me curiously, as though something in my tone has confused her. Simon carefully avoids my eyes, fixing his instead on something just past us. I stubbornly stare directly at him.

Suddenly, Simon sweeps past us, and his hand brushes against mine. His "Pardon me, Miss," is barely audible and perfectly polite. He picks up the same pair of gloves I was looking at earlier. "These are lovely." He drops them as quickly. Gemma looks away modestly, or bored

Then, Simon is coming back, and his hand is on my waist for the shortest of moments. My sharp intake of breath is too audible, but Gemma is distracted by the entrance of the dressmaker from a back room.

"Miss Doyle?" the woman says, offering her arm to Gemma. "Your dress is ready for fitting."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Middleton," Gemma murmurs politely, curtsying with grace, charm, and beauty before disappearing with the dressmaker.

Simon and I are suddenly quite alone. I go back to examining those gloves, which is quite ridiculous as I've just been sent a rather similar pair from Paris.

"Miss Worthington," Simon breathes in my ear. I turn in surprise and find myself staring once more into his eyes. "Those gloves would become you," he offers. "You look lovely in white." He chuckles, his hand on the small of my back. "You look... very innocent."

"Simon!" I chastise, stepping away from him. He smiles mischievously, and closes the gap between us, wrapping both arms around me.

"Not here!" I whisper, but he pulls me to him quite roughly. My face is crushed against his chest before he pulls away enough to find my mouth with his. I haven't been this close to him in a month, and at first I kiss him back eagerly, forgetting where we are. Somehow, he's found a wall, and he pushes me up against it. The instant my bare shoulder touches the cool, smooth wallpaper, I awake from his spell.

I duck from his grasp and push him off me. "Mr. Middleton! Your conduct has been most... improper!" I gasp. I set to fixing my hair, pretending to be affronted.

"Good day to you too, Miss Worthington." He bows gallantly, looking barely disheveled. As he leaves the shop, he swipes the white gloves with a wink at me. He walks halfway out the door, then calls over his shoulder. "Are we still talking at the Hathaway's ball?"

I answer, "Yes." I can't help it.

**ohhhh, i love simon and fee together... review?**


	12. Chapter 12

**I hope it's not too OOC... I need to reread these books BADLY. This is chapter Fee Finds Her Own Power... yay!  
**

The magic is fading rapidly. I lie on my bed, soaking in the last delicious minutes of power. I can't imagine what it would be like to feel like this always. If it was really mine, I would never let the magic leave me. I would change everything. Including myself.

I am happy right now, absolutely happy, too happy. The magic is leaving me, and I know it, but I can't mourn its loss while it is still inside me. Every cell in my body is wrapped around the last bit of magic, begging it not to go. It does anyway, and the wind blowing in the open window is suddenly cold on my bare skin.

I get up to close the window. I am white as an angel in this darkness. The breeze catches my chemise and pulls it away from my body, making it an angel's garment, a soft, white cloud. My pale hair hangs to my waist. I need only the wings from a childhood ballet recital to make the costume complete. I need only the magic to make the change real.

I stand at the window, staring at the stars. This is a night when anything feels possible, but I am filled with an unconquerable sadness, a void, that is the absence of any sense of power. The wind sends a chill down my spine, and I step away from the window to bury myself under blankets and sleep.

"Felicity!" The voice is no more than a whisper, and it comes from far below, but I recognize it anyway. I move wordlessly from the window and take the old rope from under my bed. I throw it over the windowsill. The other end is attached to my ridiculously heavy bureau, as always.

A few minutes later, Simon is standing next to me. He looks rather delighted by my apparel, and he moves to grab my waist, but I step back and just stare at him. He grins and produces the white gloves instead, which he presents to me like he would a diamond ring. "Fee."

"Good evening, Simon." I curtsy to him, then take the gloves and lay them on my bedside table. I am the perfect hostess. Mrs. Nightwing would be proud.

He sits down on my bed, flustered by my behavior. When I notice he is still wearing his coat, I remember the window is open and move to close it, effectively locking him in. Then I sit down next to him. I refuse to be the one to talk first.

After looking around my room in an almost nervous way that is uncharacteristic of the Simon I know, he bursts, "I had to see you."

He's pleading with his eyes. I give him a half smile, nothing else.

"I have to see you," he tries. I raise my eyebrows. He looks slightly puzzled, like he's trying to solve a difficult puzzle. Then the look in his eyes becomes more determined, and he leans forward to kiss me. For once, I don't let him. He frowns.

"Gemma," I remind him cheerfully.

"But Fee!" he exclaims. "I love you!"

I don't believe him for an instant. But I do feel almost... powerful.

**By the way, I do know that the whole Simon-Fee thing is completely OOC in itself, but I started writing this before the 3rd book and I couldn't have known that... and whatever... I like them together... (review?)**


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